Page 46 of Stepping Up to the Plate

“You give her a safe place to be herself,” Tiffany responds. “I think she spent most of her life fitting herself into a box to be what other people wanted, but you encourage her to explore what makes her, her. You never belittle the things she’s excited about and you pay attention to her. You notice her shift in moods when she is a little overwhelmed by the rest of the group. You remembered she was working on a blog post about why flat matte gold fixtures are better than brass and asked her about it even though I know you couldn’t care less.”

“Hey, I care about the things she cares about. Talking about those things makes her happy. And how could I not notice when her mood changes? It’s my job to take care of her,” I state.

“Exactly. You take care of her in ways no one else ever has. It helps that your competition is a no-good-little-dicked nobody, but you’d stand out all on your own.”

“He is not my competition,” I grit. “He already lost the prize.”

“Oh boy, you’re more gone than I thought,” she giggles. “If that’s the case, you better go get our girl before Sean woos. I’ve seen him make girls swoon in board shorts with a sunburn. His powers are amplified in a tux.”

I turn to see Lola laughing at something Robby’s Best Man said with her arm still wrapped around his. Nope. That is enough touching. Without saying goodbye to Tiffany, I march over to where they stand. Sean separates from her and meets me a few feet away.

“You got a good one, man. Better lock it down.”

“I’m working on it,” I practically snap, but the fucker smiles and shakes his head, prowling the reception for a new person to talk to.

“Hi, sweet girl,” I greet Lola with a peck on the cheek. “You are absolutely gorgeous in this dress. Hands down the most stunning woman here.”

“Brady,” she chastises. “You’re supposed to say that about the bride!”

“She’s got Robby to tell her she’s pretty. Besides, you know I don’t lie. "

“Thank you,” she mumbles. “You’re rather dashing in your suit.”

“I’m glad you like it. Shall we go find our seats?”

“Sure,” she agrees. “Do you think we’re sitting together?”

“Of course, we’re sitting together,” I scoff. “Why wouldn’t they sit you with your date?”

“Oh,” she mutters. “We never technically talked about it. I wasn’t sure if we were here as date-dates.”

“Date-dates?” I repeat.

“Yeah, I know we're seeing each other and obviously Robby and Carina do, but I didn’t know how public you wanted to be since there are coaches and other players here.”

“I’ve been calling you mine since practically the first night we got together, doll. I’m not sure where the confusion lies.”

“I guess that’s true,” she stammers. “But that is a thing people say, ya know? I’m yoursin a sexual sense.” She uses air quotes around ‘yours.’ Clearly, she did not understand that when I claimed her, Iclaimedher. Time to rectify that.

“You are definitely mine in a sexual sense, but you are also mine in every other sense of the word. This thing between us, it’s serious – at least to me, anyway. I know you’re still finalizing your divorce, but I’m not the type of man to let some paperwork keep me from what I want.”

She gazes at me with her wide doe eyes. “So, what? Are you, like, my boyfriend?”

I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of that term. Something feels wrong about the casualness of it and not only because I’m thirty-two.

“I think I’m a little old to be called a boyfriend, but if that’s what you want to call me, have at it. Know that I am yours. Utterly and completely. And you are mine – utterly and completely. I know that may scare you, but I’m in this for the long game. You and me, we’re going all the way. Do whatever it is you need to do to make that click in your pretty little head, because I’m not giving you up.”

“You mean you’re not giving me up easily?” she corrects.

“I said what I said.” That comment earns me a shocked expression that makes me chuckle. “Come on. You look like you need a glass of wine and those hot chicken sliders are calling my name.”

ChapterTwenty-Two

• LOLA •

“Ithink I’m going to throw up,” I say.

“That’s a tad over dramatic, don’t you think,” Tiffany states. “You’ve seen your man play before. What’s the big deal this time?”

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